


Poker Night 2:  Thief of Hearts

by Ruth_Devero



Series: Poker Night [2]
Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Poker Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruth_Devero/pseuds/Ruth_Devero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next night:  same two men, new game of poker, and still nothing to bet with.  But some rules seem to be ... changing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poker Night 2:  Thief of Hearts

It was cold. He hunched over his cards, trying to concentrate, trying to ignore the temperature. _You were born and raised in Chicago, for god’s sake_ , he told himself. _This isn’t cold_. Cold iced your face in ten minutes. Cold numbed your feet so thoroughly that stamping them made them feel as if they were going to shatter. It was 70 degrees outside. This wasn’t cold.

But his skin prickled in goosebumps all over.

All over. He shifted in his chair. All over. He frowned at the cards, trying to block the sensation, trying to forget the all over part. What the hell had possessed him last night? A joke taken further than he’d really planned. Teasing the Mountie turning into humping the Mountie turning into— Why the hell had he ever started this?

“Your bet, Ray.” Benton Fraser smiled at him across the table, as serene as if they were having tea together. Spine straight and barely touching the back of his chair, the Mountie held his cards fanned in front of him as if he were about to bid two hearts no hump—or whatever the hell it was in bridge.

That smile. Ray Vecchio studied his poker hand. That smile. That smile soft after their last kiss last night. That smile radiant when he’d asked about playing poker again tonight. That smile. His bet. What the hell had been going through his mind last night? Why the hell had he ever started this?

“Um,” he said, shifting. “Um, Fraser, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but I don’t actually have anything left to bet with.” _Oh damn. It’s actually come to this. Oh damn. Is he going to say it?_

That smile. Lighting up cerulean eyes—cerulean; he’d heard it someplace and thought of Benny; Benny had cerulean eyes. Lighting up that perfect face, like one of those pictures at the Art Institute—the ones of naked gods. Face of a god and—Ray had verified the night before—body of a god. Perfect face flushed; perfect mouth hungry for his; perfect body sheened with sweat—

“Yes, Ray.” Benny’s free hand settled on the pile of neatly folded clothing at his side of the table. “I have indeed noticed that it would seem you don’t have much to bet with.” The smile warmed. How could blue eyes hold such fire? And why did his heart hammer at the sight?

Ray dropped his gaze to his poker hand. This was humiliating. He’d played strip poker before with—mmmm, with Lydia Greenapple. That helicopter pilot who’d looked so good losing her shirt that he himself had lost even more than that and ended up paying off his marker in sex: forced to pleasure her, forced to match her moans and writhings, forced to plunge into her again and again—

“Your bet, Ray.”

—and again, into that willing body rocking beneath him on a table doing some rocking of its own, into that hot, tight passage, Benny’s cock hard and searing against his belly—

Ray took a deep breath, ignored the prickling of goosebumps and the sudden heat in the room. This was a good hand. Why the hell had he started this? Why had he actually opened his mouth and said that thing to Benny last night, when Benny was in just this position? Blue eyes startled at first; then catching fire halfway into the deed. Blue eyes dreamy as they played their final hands afterward. Sheez, this was a really good hand. If he only had something to bet, things’d start going his way. _Is he going to say it?_

“Ray.”

He looked up. “Yeah, Benny?”

“Are you going to bet?”

“I don’t have anything to bet with.”

Benny held his gaze, face suddenly rosy. The color of an American Beauty rose. Canadian. A Canadian Beauty rose. Oh, quit it, Vecchio. _Is he going to say it?_

“Of course you do, Ray,” Benny said, soft voice loud in a suddenly silent room. “You have what you’re sitting on.”

Ray swallowed. Benny had said it. He’d actually said it. Ray took a deep breath. “The _chair?_ ” he squeaked.

Benny’s color matched his dress uniform. “No,” he said. “I mean—” The smile suddenly melted, though the eyes blazed blue fire. “—I mean what you sit _with_.”

Silence. The air had thickened and was hard to breathe. He stared at Benny. Jeez, it was hot in here. Some cold draft, though, brought back the goosebumps, made him shiver. Benny wanted sex; he actually wanted sex. Like last night. Why the hell had he started this?

Well, he had a good hand. The poker hand, of course, not Benny’s strong hand clutching the back of Ray’s neck so tightly last night that today Frannie had speculated crudely about marks left by the female wrestler Ray must be dating. This was some poker hand, and Ray had nothing to bet with. Really, it was surprising how quickly he’d run out of money and clothes; for some reason he just wasn’t focused on the game. Something on his mind; he’d been kind of absent-minded all day. Well, sex was just—sex. He could do this. He was no virgin. He could do this. Sure he could. Anything for U. S./Canada relations.

“Okay,” Ray said. “Sure. I raise you—um—”

“One hour,” Benny said crisply. “You and I together. Naked. In that bed.”

“Did you re _hearse_ that?” His mouth suddenly dried as Benny gazed serenely at him, waiting. An hour. An hour of pleasuring Benny in that soft bed, of doing exactly what Benny wanted. He could do this. “Okay,” he said lightly. “I raise you—I raise you an hour in bed.” _Which you may never get_ , Ray thought, looking at that pleased face. This was a really good hand.

So was Benny’s.

Ray stared at the cards Benny fanned out triumphantly on the table, and the world stood still for a heartbeat. Three jacks: spades, diamonds, clubs.

He straightened in his chair, took a breath, looked into those clear eyes shining in that perfect face. He looked at his own hand and heard his voice say, as if from a distance, “Well, you got me.” He watched his hands as they folded his poker hand and laid the cards on the table, face down. Aw, jeez. This was actually happening. Damn, it was cold in here; he was shaking.

Benny’s smile of victory was a fire to warm him. Sheez, it didn’t take anything at all to please that Mountie.

“Well,” Ray heard himself say, “when do you want me to—to pay off my marker?”

The glowing cerulean eyes rivalled the sun. “Now would be—perfect,” he said. His voice cracked.

Now. Ray’s hands tightened on the edge of the table. “Okay. Good. I like to pay my debts.”

Benny laughed, and Ray grinned at him. Oh, god. An hour. In the bed. With the Mountie. Forced to pleasure him. Forced to match his moans and writhings. Forced to plunge into him again and again—or be plunged into. What had possessed him to start this?

He stood as the Mountie stood, hands instinctively dropping to cover his groin. “Do I at least get a kiss?” he asked, half mocking.

The curve of those beautiful lips. “Of course, Ray.”

Benny stepped forward and gently laid claim to his mouth, leaning into the kiss, persuading Ray’s lips apart with a tongue sweet as maple sugar. Ray’s hands fumbled, found Benny’s back, pressed him close, feeling the soft flannel shirt against his chest, the rough jeans against his groin. Naked against clothed Mountie. Damn, damn, damn.

Pulling apart. Blue eyes dazed; tongue whisking across warm lips. There was no air in this room. Could they open a window?

He found breath enough to say, “Do you have—”

“Protection?” How could a voice that deep be so gentle? How could eyes that blue be so ablaze? How could it matter so much? “Yes, Ray. As you said: be prepared.”

Knees unsteady as Benny guided him toward the bed, where Diefenbaker sprawled. “Diefenbaker!” Benny said, and the wolf actually jumped down and padded to a far corner.

Benny. Commanding. Forcing him to—oh god they were really going to do this. This wouldn’t be like dropping his pants and bending over that moldy hassock in Vinnie Mauceri’s clubhouse. An hour in bed with the Mountie. He was really going to do this.

Benny fumbled in the trunk at the foot of the narrow bed. A new package of condoms. Another new package—ribbed, this time. Another—non-lubricated. Four tubes of jelly. Another package of condoms—jeez, the kind that came in those neon colors. Another—

“What’d you do?” His voice sounded strangled. “Buy the factory?” Be prepared. For what—the entire precinct?

The eyes were mildly surprised. “I wanted to be sure I had whatever we needed. I tried to make sure I had the kind you like.”

Ah, god, this Mountie. Be prepared. Buying out the store to make sure he had kind Ray liked. His heart stumbled in its steady beat. This Mountie’d be the death of him.

Benny picked up a tube of jelly and tucked it inside his shirt, next to his stomach. What the hell? Ray watched as Benny pulled back the covers. They’d need them; it was really cold in here. Ray’s goosebumps were back again. And look: even the Mountie was shaking. Really cold.

“I took the opportunity to do some research at the library,” Benny was saying. Aw, jeez. “I hope you don’t mind. Some of the pictures were—intriguing.”

His legs were folding on him. Intriguing. He sat on the bed, put his hands together between his knees to control the shaking. Why the hell had he started this?

He looked at Benny, who suddenly looked nervous. Why the hell should he be nervous? Ray was the one about to be forced to do as he commanded, forced to pleasure him, forced to kiss and caress and taste hot, salty flesh— What right did the Mountie have to look so helpless and apprehensive?

“I’ll get the timer, Ray.”

“Your hour is ticking away!” Ray called after him.

The Mountie turned. “Well, you see, Ray,” he said, “I specified an hour _in bed_ with you. So, technically, my hour hasn’t actually begun.”

Oh, this Mountie was gonna be the death of him—lecturing on technicalities when he was about to ravish Ray. “Just get the timer.”

“Right, Ray.”

Oh, they were actually going to do this. He watched as Benny got the timer; he watched as Benny turned out the kitchen light. Through the archway into the dining area, and Benny’s hand pausing as it reached to turn out the light over the table. Pausing. Oh, no.

He looked away as Benny glanced toward him, hazarded a look at Benny turning toward the cards on the table. His legs were shaking so that he swung his feet up onto the bed to get them off the chilly floor. He looked at his hands clamped between his knees; he looked at his feet, which suddenly didn’t seem to be his; he looked anywhere but at Benny gathering up those cards, turning them over. Anywhere but at Benny spreading out Ray’s poker hand on the table, looking down at the ten, the jack, the queen, the king, the ace—all hearts.

Another glance hazarded: Benny smiling down at the cards on the table, touching them gently with his fingertips. Benny straightening with that little pleased smile, suddenly brisk as he turned out the light. Oh, this wouldn’t be like Vinnie Mauceri at all.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t focus. Benny turning out the light in the corner, leaving only the wash of city light to see by. Damn Canadian sure took his sweet time. Oh, god, an hour.

He looked up as Benny approached the bed. Tenderness in those blue, blue eyes. Mesmerizing. What was wrong with him? His brain was trying to shut down, the way it always did when he was having sex; his cock was having a little party of its own, happily hardening just as if he was about to use it. Hate to disappoint you, cock. Hold the phone, brain. This wasn’t real sex; it was just—well, it wasn’t real sex. Last night had been a trip through a runaway reactor, but it wasn’t real sex. For real sex you needed a woman.

He stared, mesmerized, as Benny undid his shirt, caught the tube of jelly before it dropped, tossed it to Ray. Ray caught it, surprised at the tube’s warmth. Ohmigod, Benny’d been taking the cold edge off the jelly, warming it slightly with the heat of his body. Warming it for Ray. Canadians were so predictable.

Off came the shirt, off came the undershirt, off came the jeans and the boxers. Huge. Canadians were huge. Not like Vinnie Mauceri at all. Oh, damn.

And precise. Canadians were precise. Just as Benny settled on the edge of the bed, he turned the dial on the little plastic oven timer, setting it to 60 minutes.

The only sound was that of the oven timer on the floor, merrily ticking away his hour. Benny’s hour. It was Benny’s hour that was ticking away. He watched Benny swallow. Didn’t this Mountie have the nerve to start? Did Ray have to do _everything?_

“Do you mind if I kiss you?”

Ray bit back a smile. Typical. “It’s your hour.”

The light of that smile; eyes both shy and glowing with heat. Mouth on his a plundering sweetness; warmth of body stretching out against him; arms enfolding him. Mouth the only anchor as the world spun around him.

He gasped as Benny’s legs entwined with his own. Damn, he was already hard. Damn, they were both already hard. His hips thrust against Benny’s, seeking release however he could find it. For not-real sex, this wasn’t that bad.

Benny pulled away, eyes unfocused. Came back again to lick the rim of Ray’s left ear, to tug with his lips at the lobe. Ohmigod. His eyes closed to focus on that sweet fire.

Tongue down the side of his neck, across his throat. Mouth setting his right nipple ablaze.

His hands found Benny’s head as the hot mouth slid down his belly. Handfuls of Benny’s hair, so thick between his fingers. Benny’s tongue tracing the join of his thigh to his pelvis. Inside of his right thigh. Oh, god, not there. You’re not going _there_. Ohmigod. Yes, there.

Pause. Tongue hesitant on his cock, awkwardly tracing its length. Oh, he wasn’t—Benny wasn’t. Quick flick of exquisite tongue across the tip of his aching cock; his hands tightened in the hair. Oh, Canadians. Aw, jeez, Canadians. You could always count on them.

Mouth smoothing his belly, up to his throat, his mouth. Kissing his ear. A pause.

“Ray.” A hoarse whisper in his ear—whisper from about ninety miles away. “I want to mount you from behind.”

Mounted by the Mountie. Oh, anything you want, Benny. Mount me, saddle me, ride me hard and put me away wet. Oh, yes, Benny—mount me.

He let go of the hair with an effort, with an effort turned onto his side. Things were going on behind him: rustle of condom wrapper being opened. Onto his stomach. Up onto his elbows and knees, his hands clutching the pillow. Oh, _damn_ , Canadians were slow.

The first touch of Benny’s jelly-slick fingers on his ass shook him to his soul. Slick fingers rubbing him, rubbing him; slick fingers easing their way into him, easing out, easing in again. Of their own volition, his hips leaned back against that hand. More. Give me two fingers, three. More. He gripped the pillow with his teeth. Mount me. Oh, damn, mount me.

Hands on his hips, steadying him. Oh, yes. Now.

Probing. Kiss on his shoulder, on the back of his neck. “Relax, Ray,” a voice said from a great distance.

Relax. Benny’s cock probing, pressing, opening him farther, farther. Pressure, and then a delicious feeling of something sliding home, filling him completely, fitting perfectly. Oh, god, Benny’s cock inside him. Inside _him_. Mounted by the Mountie.

Rocked by the Mountie in a slow rhythm. Benny leaning over him, warm along his back. He twisted the pillow with both hands. Kisses on his shoulders, on his neck. Hand gripping his thigh. Oh, higher. Grab higher.

Moans as the Mountie rode faster. Jelly-slick hand around his cock. Oh, yes. This was it. His hips thrusting back to meet Benny’s thrusts; his cock sliding in the grip of that hot hand. Ride. Oh, ride.

Teeth scraping along his shoulder; moaning gasps in his ear. Riding faster, now. Yes. Benny. Oh, yes, Benny—Benny—BennyBenny— _BennyBennyBennyBenny_ —

Sweet explosion of a name into a howl that the pillow muffled. Teeth on the back of his neck; sobbing gasps behind him dimly heard. A final thrust on which he hung forever, and a cry that echoed his name.

Benny somehow holding him up, arm around his waist. Gasping breaths, and the thud of a heart against his backbone. Benny’s heart, no slower than his own. Benny’s.

Benny’s fullness withdrawing from him, leaving him chilled where there had been so much heat. Benny easing him down onto his belly, onto his side, pulling him mostly out of the wet spot he’d made, fumbling, sliding Ray into the curve of his body.

Benny’s right arm around his waist; Benny’s left arm pillowing his head, crooked so that Benny’s hand could stroke his head. Benny’s breath warm on the back of his neck; Benny’s heart thudding through Ray’s body like a strange twin of his own; Benny’s legs paralleling his; Benny’s groin warm behind his ass. Benny kissed his shoulder in little bursts. Nestled by Benny, surrounded by Benny. Every muscle relaxed.

The ticking on the floor was that damned timer. Benny’s hour wasn’t up.

A sigh behind him—slow and contented. Then an intake of breath.

“Ray … are we in love?”

Ah, god, Canadians should come with a warning label: sweet earnestness may be hazardous to your heart.

Ray muffled his laugh and turned. Benny slid to sit up, and Ray followed him, sliding where Benny pulled him—half out of the wet spot, Benny in the other half. Benny’s arms settled back around his waist.

“I don’t know, Benny. You got an urge to buy me flowers and ask me to settle down and raise a couple kids?”

Benny’s chuckle warmed the darkness. “Having children might be—difficult.” He paused. “I never had a brother, Ray, but I think that what I feel is—more than fraternal. More than I’ve ever felt for a friend. Definitely more, I think, than what I would feel if it were simply sex. Giving you pleasure was—almost more important than the pleasure I took from you—with you. The pleasure I took with you.”

Oh, god, Benny was analyzing again—and doing that thing where he had to find just the exact word. Benny and exact words. A man could go crazy while Benny was finding the exact word.

“I enjoyed what we\a133did tonight and—last night. I’m not sure that what I feel for you is love, exactly, not in the usual sense of the word, though I suppose that particular word is broad enough to encompass my emotion. It matters to me how you feel. It matters to me that you enjoyed our lo—the sex. It matters to me if you’re happy. I suppose that’s love—”

Oh, halt this now. “You’re not gonna tell me an Inuit story now, are you?”

Benny blinked at him. “I could, if you think it would help.”

“No thanks.” Inuit story. The clock was ticking away their hour—no, Benny’s hour—and Benny was telling Inuit stories.

“Ray?” Hesitant.

“Yeah, Benny?”

“What exactly—do you feel about—about _me?_ ”

What did he feel about Benny? For pete’s sake, he’d gotten shot for Benny! But, no—that didn’t bear talking about. On that smooth Mountie back was a scar from Ray’s own bullet. And, besides—his eyes looked into Benny’s, and his breath caught in his throat. Those eyes were made for truth.

What did he feel about Benny? Benny the straight arrow; Benny the walking uniform. Benny, personifying the ideals that had made Ray become a cop, so that sometimes he seemed a second conscience. What exactly did he feel about someone who could irritate him while giving him the courage to act on his own ideals? And how had the urge to help the Mountie become the urge to hump the Mountie?

What was the feeling? Not the knee-weakening, groin-engorging, heart-flopping sizzle he’d felt with Ange, with Sarah, with Ann, with Veronica, with Alice, with—he took a deep breath—with Irene. No, not that. But—something that made sitting here naked with him not exactly unpleasant. That made kissing and caressing not completely unacceptable.

No, with Benny there had been a quiet click, as if two puzzle pieces had fit together. A click he hadn’t heard at the time; one he’d simply noticed echoing at the back of his mind one day when Benny was explaining the science of tasting moose droppings or some such nonsense. Just—click, and he knew he could listen to moose-droppings stories all day. Click. Was “click” love? Real love, like in the movies? Did click make you knock down some poor geek obsessed with crab grass, so your friend could have his say in front of the city aldermen? Was it click that pushed you to finally take on the childhood bully who’d had your friend beaten? Could click combine with the eagerness in a Mountie’s eyes to make you fold when you held a royal flush?

Benny was looking apprehensive again. That lower lip, trembling slightly while the upper lip stiffened. Oh, damn, put the Mountie out of his misery.

“I had sisters, not brothers, but I know that what I feel for you is probably more than fraternal. You don’t rattle my cage like some other girls I’ve—I mean, other people I’ve slept with. But you’re definitely there, Benny. Somewhere there. In the vicinity. In the vicinity of love. I think. I don’t know. Maybe it is love. Real love. Maybe not, though.” Oh, yeah, Vecchio, this is a _lot_ better than Benny’s answer. “That doesn’t have anything to do with this, though. This is completely different. This was just a one-time— _two_ -time—thing. It doesn’t mean I want to do it again. It was just paying off that silly bet.”—which you started, Vecchio—”I mean, not that it wasn’t _great_. And last night was _spectacular_. But I can’t feature doing it again. I’d still rather sleep with girls.”

There was that little smile again. Oh, hell, had he just lied? If he had, could Benny tell?

“Would you _like_ me to give you flowers, Ray?”

What the hell—? Blow it off. “I’ve always been partial to roses. Red roses are pretty classy. Would you give me red roses?”

The smile broadened, as he’d known it would. “Of course, Ray.”

“Okay, red roses.” What the hell was he _talking_ about? _Roses?_ From a _man?_ Was it possible that he could ever just shut _up?_ “Canadian roses. Just one would be classy.” Oh, just shut up. Shut _up_. Canadian roses, for god’s sake.

Benny was smiling at him. “Do you realize where your hands are, Ray?”

Did he realize where—ohmigod, where _were_ his hands? Right hand on a very warm thigh—not his own; a very happy hand, too. It was a very nice thigh. Left hand—left hand on a muscular hand that cradled his left buttock. Also a happy hand; it liked the hand it was caressing. Actually, a happy buttock, too.

Betrayed by his hands. He was held by the Mountie’s gaze, mouth suddenly dry. His heart turned over inside his chest. Hands happily making mischief on the Mountie while the mouth talked nonsense. Story of his life.

“Do you realize where _your_ hands are?” he croaked out.

“Of course, Ray.” That little smile. “My left hand is holding a rather well-shaped buttock. Of which I find myself growing fonder by the minute.”

Fonder by the minute. Sheez, there was no _air_ in this room.

Benny’s eyes held him. Fonder by the minute. Something in that gaze seemed unsure how to show itself; mirroring something in his own eyes?

Oh, just kiss him. Their mouths met, tongues gently tasting each other. Fonder by the minute. Ray looked into the shining blue eyes, watching them go out of focus as he brought his lips again to Benny’s. That lower lip. Tongue meeting that lower lip, the blue eyes closing. What about that chin? What did it taste like?

It tasted like more. A sigh as he pressed his lips to Benny’s throat. What would happen if he kissed Benny’s collarbone, right _here?_

The shuddering sigh felt like a reward. Oh, yeah, do it again on the other side. Another sigh.

Making Benny sigh. Now, that was a career he could really enjoy.

Benny kissing in turn. Mouthing the rim of his ear, nuzzling at the base. Kisses moving across his face, down his throat, farther down, slow, deliberate, fervent. Almost—almost reverent, as if his body were something to cherish, to worship. Oh, god, if this wasn’t love, then it was a damn good substitute.

Eyes closed, he stroked that thick hair, breathed shuddering sighs not just at the texture of that silky hot mouth, but at the tenderness it expressed, at the sense of being cherished. Aw, jeez—no damn way could he get it up again this soon, but that didn’t seem to matter. Cherished.

The ding of the oven timer, and he knew how Cinderella felt when the clock struck midnight.

His eyes flew open, met Benny’s wide eyes. Oh, damn, the hour was over.

Their eyes locked. Ray began to gather himself together, searching for some witticism to smooth their way out of bed.

And watched in astonished delight as Benny scooped up the timer and twisted the dial, savagely, setting it again to 60 minutes. This was how Cinderella must have felt when the glass slipper slid where it belonged.

He began to laugh as Benny’s mouth went back to its task. Ah, god, Canadians. Who could predict them?

Mouth on the inside of his right thigh, tongue swirling in warm, languid circles. Mouth on his scrotum, tongue exploring, teeth— _ouch!_

“Sorry, Ray!” Blue eyes alarmed. “I believe I need to do more research.”

Ray bent to capture that mouth, to pull it up where it could do less harm. “Practice on me,” he said against Benny’s mouth. “Some other time.”

“Understood, Ray.”

Bodies fitting together, easing into the newly learned contours. Kissing, kissing—a sweet mouth to memorize.

Ray pulled away to press his mouth again and again down that strong column of throat, across the muscular chest. Delicious combination of sweat and musk—Benny’s sweat and Benny’s musk. Tonguing a rock-hard nipple. Across the flat belly, mindful of the shuddering moans.

And what have we here? An eager Mountie. Hot cock hardening against his cheek. Warm under his lips. Delicious against his tongue. His own cock stirring in response to the cock and to Benny’s moans. Oh, damn, Benny, this ain’t bad at all.

Benny’s hands smoothed his head. He rubbed his cheek against Benny’s cock and smiled at the sudden gasp. Oh, yeah, not bad at all.

Benny’s hands guided him up, back to that sweet, Canadian mouth. “I want you to take me, this time.” Benny’s whisper sounded almost apologetic.

Benny giving orders. Ray laughed gently. “Of course, Benny.” Mount the Mountie.

Another kiss, deep. Benny’s hips arched against him. “From the front—please?”

More orders. Some Canadians. “Of course, Benny.”

A long, shuddering sigh that seemed to go straight through Ray’s heart to his groin. Ohmigod—ready again already. Miracles never ceased.

He fumbled for a condom, snugged it on. Another—for Benny. The dazed eyes opened as he slid it on. “Thank you kindly, Ray.”

The jelly. Oh, that part of Benny was hot, was tight. Benny moaned beneath him, clutching the bedsheet with both hands, knees to his chest. Eager.

The tightness of that opening, yielding to his gentle pressure; Benny’s gasp as Ray slid in. Oh, enveloped by heat, clutched by avid fingers, deafened to all but sobbing moans.

He leaned on one elbow, hand between them, working, working that molten-hot cock in time to his thrusts. Dimly watched Benny lose himself in the pleasure, thrusting into Ray’s hand, gasping with each movement. His sweat dripping onto Benny’s lips; that tongue darting out catch the drops as they fell.

Benny. This was Benny—this was—this was Benny—it was—it—

A ragged explosion that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul, wordless, no words to express it.

Wordless still when Benny cried out against his shoulder, his cock seeming to ripple under Ray’s hand. No words necessary.

Shaking as he and Benny cleaned each other—this time shaking with exhaustion, not cold. Gather up the sheet to tuck around them; gather Benny into his arms; curl around him; kiss his shoulder; hold him safe—still wordless.

The only sound that mattered was the sound of Benny’s heart, pounding, pounding in rhythm with his own.

The clicking of the timer as he drifted off to sleep.

The ding woke him. Benny stirred as Ray leaned across him. He looked down into the sleepy cerulean eyes, at the mouth like a bruised rose. Benny. And he set the dial to 60 minutes.

Benny began to laugh, weakly. “Ray, we’re going to kill ourselves at this rate.”

Ray joined his laughter. “No better way to go, Benny.”

He bent to meet that soft mouth as the timer clicked away, losing himself in the kiss, losing himself in the musk of warm skin, losing himself in the not-really love—and, with every chance to lose himself, another chance to win.


End file.
